Adaptable Pets

It's worth noting that our pets seems to be settling into their new quarters quite well.  Most surprisingly has been Puck, who very un-cat-like seems to take things as they come.  He also doesn't let noisy or messy house renovations get in the way of his daily naps, and has found a nice comfy spot above the fray to take his naps.  Literally.

City Livin'

We're still plugging along, and as we see our once-filthy double-wide trailer slowly morphing into our home, things are looking up.  I'm slowly getting used to Little Rock and living on a military post.

For the most part, base life is quiet.  We enjoy the tranquil surroundings, with our house set on several grassy acres with big mature trees, surrounded on three sides by pretty extensive woods, with only one distant neighbor - a very nice family who mostly keep to themselves except when their dog comes over to visit our dogs.  We're one of only a handful of permanent base residents, and at quitting time there is a mass exodus from the front gate.  In addition, our house is located away from the offices where most hustle and bustle takes place.  Still, there are some things to get used to.  While we're away from the offices and large buildings, we are close to the airfield, and helicopters frequently interrupt the silence.  I can live with that, though.  In the evenings it's a nice area to talk a walk or sit out and enjoy the porch.  The nicest part is that it seems the base housing authority has a true "hands off" approach - we're pretty much free to do what we want.

So far, the biggest annoyance has been our proximity to the officer training classrooms as well as the military programs for "troubled" youth.  Most days cadence calls can be heard in the distance, reminding us that we do live on a military installation.  Now that I've gotten used to it, I really don't mind - EXCEPT when it starts at 4:30 a.m.  I can live with 6:00...but I think earlier than that is a bit much.  It seems I'd just settled into a nice deep sleep when I was ripped from my dreams by "SIR YES SIR!!!  WE ARE MOTIVATED SIR!!!"

Well, lately I'm not ever motivated at 4:30 a.m., unless it would involve catching a plane to a warm sandy beach (are you seeing a theme in my posts lately?).  Usually I'm able to get back to sleep, all the while feeling sorry for the poor schmucks who are out running around in the dark calling cadence.

The trips I make back to The Homestead have made me realize that it's feeling less and less like "home."  The house feels empty and strange.  So, I guess I'm making the transition just fine.  Hopefully soon we'll be moved, settled, and back to the stuff that makes our world turn.

Stay tuned for some pictures...I'm still figuring out my new phone. :)

System Reboot

HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!  Especially to my own Mom, who has definately earned her stripes.  :)

I'm back online again, thanks to the purchase of a wireless card.  The reconnection to technology has me feeling a bit bloggy.  Also, having the Internets has brought me closer to sanity than I've been as of late.

To tell the truth, this relocation and house re-do process stinks to high heaven, and not just from the cat pee.  Once again, normal life has come to a screeching halt until the house is done and we're moved.  Judging by the way my brain and body seem to have both rebelled, I think I've reached my life limit of house redo's.  Maybe it has to do with the fact that we JUST finished totally redoing our supposed-to-be-permanent house outside of Mountain Home which we are now fretting about trying to sell without losing our pants or what goes into them before hubby deploys for a year.  Maybe it's all that, plus the fact that in my relatively short adult life, I've been involved in the redoing of numerous houses.  This doesn't include any of the family house redo's and remodels of my youth where I frequently found a paintbrush in my hand.  I firmly believe every home renovation, whether it's simple paint or full-blown remodel, removes years from a person's life span.  Or, maybe it has nothing to do with any of the above, and it's simply that my brain has had to switch gears so many times lately that the transmission is ailing.

My fervent wish, now that I'm in my mid-30's, is to stay in one house for at least five years.  My current record is 2.  While not every move has required home improvement, more have than not.  Every time before when improvements have been called for, I've charged into home remodeling head-first, proud that I don't have to depend on someone else to paint, hang and mud drywall, cut and install trim, and can step up to other similar tasks that crop up when one attempts to improve a home.  This time it's with my feet firmly dragging, though the decision seems subconscious and involuntary.  I'd gladly pay for the word to be done, but after materials, the funds just aren't there. 

My husband recently (very gingerly) commented on my recent inability to make a decision, and I couldn't argue, as I'd just stood in the pant section of Lowes for twenty minutes, body in a state of exhaustion from lack of sleep, caught between trying to decide whether to sit on the floor and sob or angrily curse the fates for making so many shades of similar green....before having a full-blown panic attack when he asked what I wanted to do for supper.

Stress does funny things to a person.

This past weekend, while hubby has been busy writing a paper for a class while buried under a major work load, at his urging I took off for my home town and the quiet, rural familiarity of my parent's house.  I was feeling a bit guilty for cutting out when there is so much work to done, until in the span of one hour I'd tripped over a paint can, dropped the cordless drill on the air mattress, puncturing it with a huge hole, then broke the dog's waterer and removed a chunk of my finger trying to fill it.  Sometimes you just need to walk away.

This small break also coincided with our bi-annual trip to the craft fairs in Northwest Arkansas, where Mom, a friend, and I all happily enjoyed the nice weather while perusing booths, admiring the clever items, pulling faces at the gaudy and ridiculous, and buying stuff we didn't at all need.  I came home with three hand-made rugs, a butter keeper (an ingenious hand-thrown clay contraption that allows for butter to be kept at room temperature for grand lengths of time without going bad, therefore making it possible to spread without destroying your toast or biscuit), a couple of crocheted nylon pot-scrubbers, some old-fashioned milled cornmeal, and a nice big white, yellow, and happily daisy-shaped "Welcome" sign for our new house.

One item I didn't buy, but stopped to read when it screamed for my attention, was a sign repeating a phrase I'd heard before, but it never hit home like it does now.  "While we're busy counting our troubles, we seldom stop to count our blessings."  Sometimes you need a break, and sometimes you need to know when to pay attention.  It's not likely I'll quit whining, and I'll definitely have bad days (probably until things are settled and we get a nice relaxing vacation), but there is a light to the end of this tunnel.  Even if it sounds cheesy or simplistic, it's true...I find myself heading back to Little Rock with a full trailer behind me and an improved attitude.  I should not only be glad for a house and a great husband, but that we have the ability to do the work needed ourselves, as well as family always eager to help us where we fall short. 

I probably should've bought that sign to hang in our soon-to-be-finished home. 

But then, maybe I'll just think of the phrase when I use the butter keeper.

I Shall Return

Please excuse my blogging hiatus as of late.  As most of you know, we're in the midst of an extremely difficult move, involving much home improvement, much stress, and many impulses to scream, stomp around, and act out irrationally.  Unfortunately we don't have Internet at our new abode, nor are we updated with iPhones thanks to ATT's haughty attitude, and Verizon's less-than-stellar signal.  Therefore, I'm unable to blog as regularly as I'd like.

I still find it ironic that we can get uber-fast DSL service at our old home in the middle of nowhere Ozarks, yet nothing at our new home in our particular part of the city.  *sigh*

But never fear - you can't keep a blabby blogger down for long, and I'll update whenever possible.  Just please don't desert me as I desperately cling to sanity.

Ideas Needed

My folks are in the process of opening an antique store in my little south Missouri hometown.  It's hoped that an influx of antique stores will revive the long-ailing downtown of what used to be a bubbling and quaint little town, and I'm surely one of those doing the hoping.  It hurts a bit to go home and see such a depressed main street.

With oodles of stuff left over from my Grandmother's antique store and since they already own a building downtown, they have the makings of a darned good store.  As Dad has been working hard to update and redo the building, the challenge has been thinking up a name. 

With a family too witty and sarcastic for their own good, the smart-alec names have been flying.  My personal favorite was proposed by my aunt and cousin, who thought it'd be nice to put a little coffee shop in the corner and call it, "The Crapper Barrel." 

*snorfle*

Anyway, they need a catchy name.  While they've already collected a few winners, any more inspirations we could add would be appreiated.

The Hard Way

Lately life makes me think of that Mary Chapen Carpenter song, “The Hard Way”, given the fact that it seems everything hubby and I do is achieved by taking the most difficult route possible. We can’t just up and move…we have to get ourselves into circumstances that draw it out into a long, excruciating, stressful, never-ending process repeated way too soon after the initial long, drawn-out move and house re-do. Worst of all, it’s causing me to miss my very favorite time of the year. While I was busy loading a trailer and getting it to our new abode, picking out paint, and cleaning sludge, spring happened. And I missed it. Turkeys are going un-hunted. Morel mushrooms are going un-gathered. Flowers are going un-smelled. Birds are going un-watched. Save for a few galvanized tubs of tomatoes, the garden is going un-planted.

Stress has reached new levels – you haven’t lived life on the edge until you’ve driven an overloaded truck and enclosed trailer complete with two dogs down scenic Hwy 14, where the curves are so sharp a person has been known to see their own tail lights.

This week at Chateau Pee-Pee, we were able to retrieve a load of flooring and paint a room. At this rate we’ll be settled in about three years, but with hubby’s way-too-demanding job and still caring for a home three hours away, we’re doing the best we can. We should be paying someone to do the work, but you can’t get blood from a turnip, so the work falls to us to try to complete in our spare time.  At least the pee smell is mostly gone. We should now change the name to Chateau Paint Fumes, which is much preferable. While paint fumes aren’t high on my list of favorite smells, the scent does say “Progress.” However, it’s hard to get the image out of my head of Tom Hanks in, “The Money Pit.”

Now, aside from being stressed out, we’re caught in limbo. Our Mountain Home house no longer feels like home, nor does our new house feel like home just yet. If there’s one good thing to be said for the way we seem to do things, it’s that if we ever DO get settled and relaxed and into a routine, we’ll greatly appreciate what everyone else seems to take for granted. Right now that seems a long way away, but I know it’ll eventually get here…one step at a time. I hope for your sake I can do it without too much whining.

Just Another Racist Extremeist

Today I had another post all ready to go, but then I realized I was being a big fat chicken, already playing into negative media coverage.  Last night I attended the local Tea Party.  According to MSNBC, which I had on while I worked around the house yesterday afternoon, this makes me an idiot, a racist, an exteremeist, and part of a "dangerous fringe" of society who practice in "hate speech" and don't want to pay their taxes.  Hm.

I guess since I'm concerned about more and more entitlement programs on the way - entitlements that have no incentive but encourage relying on government for needs, outrageous spending of our tax dollars (when only 50% of households actually pay taxes), a debt that defies all logic that is going to bite us solidly on the ass, and a lack of concern for governmental spending in the face of that debt, not to mention the fact that we now have a healthcare bill that was crammed through in secret without regard that a majority of the American people were screaming to slow down - I'm all those things MSNBC commentators spouted about anyone dumb enough to attend a tea party.  I guess we're just supposed to sit down and shut up.

Sorry, I just can't.  No matter what the "unbiased media" has to say, I've been to a few of these things now, and have never seen the mob-mentality or rampant racism supposedly present at these gatherings.  Matter of fact, yesterday I met and spoke with Princella Smith, who is running for Congress in Arkansas's 1st District.  The more I hear from her, the more I like her...despite my disagreement one one particular issue, the rest are right in line and for me hold more importance for our country. 

http://www.princellasmith.com/

I first heard Princella speak at another, totally unpolitical event, and during a web search to find out more about her views and political stances since I happen to live in this disctrict, I encountered ALL KINDS of real hate speech from people with opposing viewpoints.  Holy cow.  The double-standards are astounding.

This administration has clearly shown that they're not going to take our concerns into consideration.  Isn't that the foundation this country was built on?  Shouldn't thoughts and concerns of a large number of citizens be at least taken into consideration, rather than ridiculed and ignored?  How do you THINK people are going to feel?  Large demonstrations should be expected.  I may not agree with every single issue brought to concern by Tea Party goers, but the real underlying issue, bringing different people from various walks of life and backgrounds together,  is that a growing number of citizens are feeling left out, forgotten, and taken advantage of.

So yup, say hello to your friendly neighborhood extremeist.

Happy Early Birthday to Me

Yesterday I received my birthday present from Marden a couple of weeks early.  He gave me two reasons for jumping the gun - #1) He's not sure if the Army will let him be in town to properly celebrate my three-and-a-half decades, since April is a crazy month in his world, and #2) he already had it and he can't keep a secret.  I know the second reason to be a solid truth.  The boy CANNOT keep a secret when it concerns a gift.  It's unreal.  I have it on good authority that he had a carefully concocted plan to hide this item in his car, then transfer it to his office until closer to the day.  However, within 10 minutes of his arrival at home from a conference this weekend, he disappeared.  I just figured he was cleaning out his car, until I heard strumming coming from the porch.  I went to investigate, and I was presented with this:

Whoohoo!  It's a banjo!  A Deering Goodtime 5-string open-back banjo, to be exact...the very no-frills beginner model.  As I sit here typing, it's over on the couch, staring at me reproachfully, as if it's saying, "Oh geez...I got YOU?  You don't know the first thing about a banjo."  And it would be right.  I really don't know the first thing about a banjo, except that I want to learn.  I should probably go over and make friends with it, but it's very intimidating.

I mentioned to Mom that I was probably crazy for wanting to learn the banjo.  She caught me a bit off-guard when she didn't hesitate to agree. :)  Oh well, I'm no stranger to family and friends thinking I'm an odd duck...this is just the first time Mom chimed in.  In all fairness, I did ask.  It is a little nuts since I am not only still light-years from mastering the fiddle, but I seem to be collecting hobbies the way some people collect stuff.  I'm a Hobby Hoarder.  Doesn't a cable channel have a show for that?  I just realized the other day how many hobbies I have...I have hobbies I've forgotten I have until I run across the stuff for that hobby, which comes with it's own kind of guilt.  It's just that there are so many things I want to do.  I don't want to wake up one day at ninety years old, realizing that I never tried anything because I was afraid of failing or afraid of what people thought.  Regret is one of the worst feelings in the world...I hate feeling regret more than anything.  To tell the truth, I AM sometimes afraid of what people think...but I'm more afraid of the regret if I don't try to cram in as many interesting things as I can into this life.  If people think I'm a little off, so be it.  But, the truth is that I do need to pare down some hobbies, discard the ones that didn't stick, and get more serious about others.  That, however, is another blog post.

The reasons that kept me from pursuing banjo in the past included a lack of true interest, lack of money, lack of a teacher, and the fact that they're heavy and big and cumbersome, and finally - all those freaking finger-picks. Then I discovered that there are different kinds of banjos along with different styles of playing, and the banjo used in my favorite genre of stringed music - Old-Time Americana Roots stuff - most often uses the clawhammer method of banjo-ing. I don't really know the reason it's called "clawhammer", and I couldn't find a reason why, but I like to think it's because you hold your picking hand like a claw, then hammer on the strings.  No finger-picks involved.  It's open-backed, so no heavy resonator.  It's simple, and I like simple.  Once I discovered the clawhammer style and these light-weight banjos, my interest quickly went from , "eh" to "OH!." 

I'd probably never seriously considered learning the banjo if not for my Folk Alliance experience, where I learned the difference between banjos, was told repeatedly that it was one of the easier stringed instruments to learn, and was pursuaded that learning another instrument would help me understand music theory, jamming, and chording whatnot.  Even when I protested, "But I'm just starting the fiddle!", I was told that most musicians eventually pick up another instrument, and it would just fuel my drive to learn.  Once I displayed the least bit of interest, banjos were thrust into my arms and I was instructed to "mess around with it a bit."  I think they knew I'd get hooked.

I guess that's when I started mentioning banjos to my husband, and he took the hint.  Though, I really did want the waffle iron that I requested so I could make our own whole-grain waffles.  I guess he thought that wasn't a very good birthday present.  I suppose I can get a waffle iron any time...I mean, I've made it this far without one.  But, I'm super-excited, if a bit intimidated, by the prospect of getting to know this banjo.  Much more excited than if I were making waffles...although waffles are exciting, too.

Hard Times at Chateau Pee-Pee

The past week I've been without internet access - which feels uncomfortably like being without a limb - while we finally, FINALLY, took possession of our new house on Camp Robinson.  (Therefore this may be a longish post...it feels so great to have my hands typing away at a keyboard again I may have a hard time stopping.)  Unfortunately, the day that was supposed to bring great joy instead brought intense frustration, anger, and not just a few tears as I walked through the house, stumbling over all the broken furniture, trash, and just utter crap the former tenants left not only in the house, but all over the yard, on the porches and in the storage buildings.  My eyes watered at the stench of cat pee soaking the carpets and the unmistakable odor of outright filthy living.  I quickly regretted rebuffing the offers from my folks to come and help with pre-move prep. 

Mom, you're entitled to a big "I told you so."  I humbly accept.

We spent an entire afternoon just clearing the flotsam left in and around the double-wide to stack on an ever-growing refuse pile, which the former owner promised to take care of.  I'm not holding my breath on that one, but at least we got it out of our way and consolidated into one big heap.  One thing I'll never understand is how poeple spend money on things, then don't take care of them.  The sheer amount of once-nice items that were not cheap, but that had been abused and neglected until they were junk was unbelievable.  A few things left behind were usable, such as a barely-used automatic dog-waterer I happen to know costs about $40 at Petco.  I'm guessing money wasn't a huge concern to these folks.  It's amazing what you can learn about people by going through their discarded stuff.  They seemed to have the attitude that many people have today - "don't take care of it, then don't fix it - just buy a new one."

After we got most of the junk and trash cleaned up, we turned our attention to state of the house.  Now, I've never been accused of being an immaculate housekeeper.  I seem to have contracted that recurring disease knows as "clutteritis", letting things pile up, forgetting to put things away after use, and allowing laundry to accumulate while waiting to be folded.  I also occasionaly give in to the "do-it-laters" when faced with a beautiful day or good book.  However, despite my failings as a neat-freak, I've never felt my home was actually dirty.  Oh, it accumulates dirt and dust, our shower is indeed a magnet for soap scum, and there are items in the back of the fridge that could possibly be designated as some new life-form.  But, I do excercise my vacuum, broom, mop, dust rags, and sponges at least once a week...and every couple weeks I try to make a foray through the fridge to discard food relics.  While my goal is to one day live in such a way that at any given time my house looks as though there is a place for everything, and everything is in it's place, in reality I'm happy if at any given time someone can walk in and feel comfortable.  Plus, the dirt that is in my house is my dirt...and that's different.

In our new house, the former owners weren't bothered by even the most meager methods of housekeeping.  Matter of fact, I'm pretty sure that to accumulate that much filth in the short time they lived in this house, not once was a vacuum run over the carpets or a sponge passed over the showers.  How do people live in such dirty conditions?  I'm sure bonafide neat-freaks ask the same questions about my house, so I guess it's all relative.

In any case, the accumulated filth left a grimy film over every surface, which collected dust, hair, food...and I'm not sure what else - I really don't want to know.  I'll not go into great detail, but after a short time of cleaning it wouldn't have surprised us to find Jimmy Hoffa somewhere in the mess.

I'll quit grossing you out, but I will say that I expect some sort of Lifetime Achievement Award for spending two solid hours mopping up the filth-encrusted sludge that had accumulated behind and under the stove and fridge.  *shudder*  Due to the intense odor of cat urine, we started calling our new place "Chateau Pee-Pee"...it has a nice Frenchy ring and it helped us keep up our sense of humor, which we were quickly losing.

(I'll also spare the details from the guy who took over the former house-owner's office and had to clean it...but I will say it included boogers.  Yes...boogers.)

Once we got the carpet and pad out, which took several days, the smell GREATLY improved.  And, we were delighted to find that the floor was undamaged from the "moisture."  After a few days of intense cleaning (and a lot of bleach), greatly aided by Marden's folks chipping in, the house not only lost all trace of the initial horrible stench, but started feeling a bit more friendly, as if Chateau Pee-Pee really could actually be our home one day in the near future, and the dark cloud over my head started to dissipate slightly.

On an additional bright note, we also continued having flooring success.  As I mentioned before, we decided to go with Ron Pack Carpet and Flooring.  We worked with Pamela, who came out to take measurements and give us a quote.  Unfortunately the flooring we'd initially picked turned out to be a bit more expensive than we thought, and with the sheer square footage we needed it flew right out of our price range.  That's not hard to do with 2700+ square feet to cover in flooring.  We wanted good quality that would hold up and not look cheap, but that prospect was starting to appear impossible.  It was either break the bank, or lower our quality standards and risk getting something that not only looked cheap but that wouldn't hold up.  Pamela was sympathetic to our plight, though, and had brought some samples of high-quality flooring she had only in small amounts, but that she thought we might like.  Long story short - after Pamela scoured their warehouse as well as the warehouse in Ron Pack's other location, and we ended up with really nice, thick, richly "hand-hewn" textured laminate flooring that is normally very expensive.  We did have to go with four slighly different floors, but the trailer is so huge that I don't think it'll look patchworky, and Pamela did find enough of one floor to do the main part of the house all the same.  It's not what I would've picked for my dream house - a little dark for my taste - but for this house it'll work, especially with all the windows and natural light it has, and after the walls are brightened up with some fun paint.  And it DEFINATELY works for the pocketbook - Pamela was able to get the entire house floored for $1.07 per square foot.  We left Ron Pack's parking lot in a state of almost giddy relief.

This whole experience makes me wonder, "HOW do we always get ourselves into these situations???"  It seems I'm always redoing a house.  It seems I've been redoing houses and apartments every year since college.  I sincerely hope against hope that this is the one...this is where we'll land for a significant amount of time.  We shall see.

A Must-See Movie

This past weekend my husband and I rented a couple of movies.  While the first was so bad I won't even mention it, I highly recommend the other, "The Stoning of Soraya M."

Based on a true story - this wasn't a fancy movie with a lot of special effects, or even a complicated plot - the title pretty much says it all.  But to say it was real and gut-wrenching isn't giving this movie enough credit.  Even squinting at the subtitles on our little 19" TV, I felt like I was part of the village where the story was taking place.  I wanted to scream at the injustice, and cry for not only Soraya, but everyone who has and will continue to meet this fate in a modern-day culture where women are at best second-class citizens, and more commonly just property with about as much status and rights as a head of livestock.

If you do watch it, be aware that the actual stoning is intense and brutal.  In a world where almost every movie we watch is jam-packed full of action, with twisted plot lines (when there is a plot), huge dramatic explosions, and gory computer-enhanced deaths, I wouldn't have expected "The Stoning of Soraya M" to profoundly affect me the way it did.  Don't expect to feel uplifted after this movie - as the credits rolled my husband and I sat in stunned silence.  Despite the absence of a warm-fuzzy after this movie, I had the feeling I'd just watched something profound and important, rather than an empty and pointless fabrication meant to stun us with special effects.

I'll quit blabbering on...just check it out and see for yourself.

http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1277737/

Score Another for Little Rock

Lately I've really been trying hard to look at the bright side and think of all the advantages of moving from our peaceful Ozark hills home to the busy, loud, traffic-congested city, where I feel I stick out like a sore thumb and am intensly uncomfortable.  I've never had the desire to live in the city.  As a matter of fact, I've always loudly proclaimed that I'd never live in one.  If there is one lesson I can't seem to get hammered into my thick skull, it's to never say never.

As THE MOVE to the city looms closer, it's harder to come to terms with the things I'm going to miss about living in a fairly remote area, especially now that spring is waking nature up and everything is starting to green.  I'm sure I'll adjust just fine, though it may take a while.

Last week, though, I found a big reason to like Little Rock in addition to our big score in flooring.

If there's one big complaint I have about living in Mountain Home, it's that restaurant choices are limited.  It's a price to pay for living out in the boonies.  We don't eat out much, but when we do we don't have a lot to choose from, and that gets aggrivating when we're on a date night or it's a special occasion.  One advantage of the city is a much wider assortment of eating establishments. 

Last week while in the city we were trying to figure out what to do for supper, and Marden suggested we try Shotgun Dan's Pizza.  He told me it was the best pizza ever.  I'm always dubious when trying a new pizza, but "best pizza ever" is quite the gutsy proclamation.  Pizza is my favorite food, and I can't say I'm picky when it comes to eating pizza - pizza is one of those foods where even if it's bad, it's still pretty good.  Very few times have I come across a pizza I just couldn't eat.  (Unless it has anchovies, which to me tastes like pizza dipped in the creek.) 

But, while I'm not super-picking about eating pizza, I'm enough of a connoisseur to carefully place pizzas into different categories based on my own preferences.  For example:

Excellent:  Jem Dandy's Pizza in my hometown, Pappa's Pizza (I grew up with this pizza...the restaurant is no longer there, and I'm not sure if the people who bought the recipe are still in business), and Pizza By Stout in Joplin, MO.
.

Very Good:  House of Pizza, U.S. Pizza, etc.

Good:  Papa John's, Dominos, and a few other pizza chains, DiGiorno frozen pizzas.
.

Edible:  Totino's Party Pizza, and those little pizzas the Schwann's truck brings.
.

Ok If You're Starving:  School Cafeteria Pizza.

I didn't have a whole lot of faith in Shotgun Dan's pizza.  I should've given Marden more credit.  I'm pretty sure it IS the "best pizza ever", and I'm also sure we'll be giving them a lot of business.  Thin delicious crust, but still soft enough, and piled with toppings.  It definately fits into the "Excellent" cagetory.  As we happily stuffed ourselves with the cheesy goodness, we decided this discovery makes THE MOVE a lot more bearable.

In Search of Flooring

Busy week here at The Homestead, thus my lack of blogs this past week.  THE MOVE looms over us, and I'm anticipating it with both eagerness and dread.  A trip to Little Rock this week only cemented those feelings.  I'm eager to get moved and settled, and actually live with my husband in the same house all the time (what a novel concept), yet I dread the actual act of moving and everything that comes with it.  Best to just put your head down and grit your teeth and muck through while trying to see the bright sides.

(By the way, it's amazing how much faster spring comes to central Arkansas than the northern part of the state.  Here in the north, spring is very slowly creeping closer - trees are still very much brown.  Yet a mere three hours south, spring has jumped off the high dive, every living thing going nuts with bloom and green.  I do look forward to that.)

While waiting (and waiting) for the current family to vacate the house we're moving to on base, we've been going back and forth on whether to replace the all the worn carpets with new flooring.  Long story short, we decided to replace the carpet in it's entireity with laminate wood flooring.  I just hate carpet anyway, but considering the fact that the former family had six kids and a dog - a simple shampooing and carpet re-stretch is probably a waste of time and effort.  Laminate is durable, looks nice, is easy to install, and truthfully - putting hardwood in a doublewide seems a bit like putting a gilded golden saddle on a sow.  So, laminate it is.

Mission Impossible this past week was to find flooring at all costs.  We resolutely set out for places that sold laminate.  We started at the usual big chain home-improvement places, and as expected got the usual big chain home-improvement places service...which is to say, NONE.  Anymore you just expect it.  At Lowes we found some flooring we liked, but getting an estimate was like pulling teeth from the less-than-interested associate.  He of course couldn't tell us anything about the flooring, he'd have to ask so-and-so, and they were out for the day, and he could only give a rough estimate because they'd have to come measure and inspect and that would be a fee, of course.  Oh, and they couldn't do that for a couple weeks.  We left with our rough estimate, which was nearly equal to the entire treasury of a small country.

Even less luck found us at Home Depot, where there was no shortage of associates only willing to help us find someone from that department who knew anything.  Flooring was strung around the store haphazardly, no prices, and few descriptions, with samples on display racks that didn't work.  We didn't even bother with an estimate.

Lumber Liquidators had some nice samples, but nothing struck us as being interesting enough to wait for the lone salesman, who didn't get off the phone and only glanced in our direction in the 20 minutes we browsed the showroom.

On to Ron Pack Carpet and Flooring, which was highly recommended by a reliable source.  I can't say sing enough praises about this place based on our experience so far - from the time we walked through the door we were treated with respect and great interest.  Isn't working on commission a wonderful thing?  It can be, if you run into a good salesman - and the lady who helped us was at the top of her game.  She talked to us for nearly two hours, peppering us with questions about our lifestyle, tastes, furniture, etc, and without being overbearing or pushy.  She went into great detail showing us how the flooring was made, what made some more durable, what made some more expensive, how to install, mistakes people commonly make, and blah blah blah.  It was a refreshing flood of information.  She took note of what we gravitated to, and showed us relevant samples without trying to push us into more expensive categories.  When we came to a decision, she gave us a loose price that blew the chain stores out of the water (she then assured us she could do even better once she took measurements), and in addition set up an appointment for a no-cost inspection of the house - on her day off, and a holiday at that - along with promises to bring more samples and scour the back warehouse for discontinued flooring that might save us money by using it in rooms we wouldn't be using as often.

I'm tentatively feeling good about this whole thing, simply based on our good flooring experience.  We'll see how it pans out, but for now it seems we'll get what we want, at a price we can afford, sooner rather than later.  Then we'll be moved, situated and comfy - hopefully in enough time to enjoy a few months together before hubby deploys.  That's been the latest surprise bump in the road of our lives.  But, I'm learning to wear a helmet...like I said, put your head down, grit your teeth, and muck through while looking for the bright sides.

Open Wide, America

Today I was hoping to do some kind of cutsey post, but my heart just isn't in it.  As everyone knows by now, the Healthcare Reform bill passed - barely - but it passed, by people who hadn't even read it.  The bill not only covers healthcare, but sweeps into other ares, like education...and who knows what else, but we'll be finding out now that it's after the fact.  Some are rejoicing, and some are not.  Whichever side of this debate anyone is on, EVERY American should be upset in the manner this all went down.  This was EXTREMELY controversial legisation that was shoved through regardless of it's controversy, regardless of the polls, regardless that nobody READ the bill (how unbelievable is that???), regardless that our President promised any healthcare legislation would be with transparency, without backroom deals, broadcast on C-SPAN for everyone to see.  This in reality was a deal hashed out in back rooms, with under-the-table agreements to buy votes, in total secret and in violation of the Constitution - that will affect us all.  The American people, who are supposed to be running the government through their elected representatives (the definition of a Republic), were completely ignored, with the excuse that this was passed instead "for the greater good."  Those words should send a chill up everyone's spine, because that means as long as our elected officials justify acting upon that attitude, it we're no longer in control of our own destiny.
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I've heard a lot of people saying, "Well, it's all corrupt, so we might as well get out of it what we can" and "As long as I'm getting free stuff they can do what they want...besides they probably know what's best for us."  That above all makes me saddest.  If we'd gone into this Bill heads-up, eyes wide open, with the American people's wishes, I would concede.  It wasn't anywhere close...call me a fool if you will, but I'm afraid of what's to come if people don't start to wake up.
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"These are the times that try men's souls" - Thomas Payne

The Finished Product

Happy St. Patrick's Day!  I hope everyone, Irish or not, is wearing some green.  While we're on the subject of ancestry, I plan on doing some posts on my adventures with http://www.ancestry.com/.  I had hoped to follow some family dead-ends, solve some mysteries, and iron out some heritage - what I have discovered so far is that my heritage is solidly what I started calling "American Sludge", which is a wide-ranging mixture of everything under the sun.  But there is just enough Irish in there to justify a bit of green today.

But more on that later.

I previously promised to post some pictures of my honest-to-goodness, totally finished fiddle complete with purfling.  And, here it is:

Yay!  While I had my fiddle apart to make the purfling easier, I went ahead and made a couple of adjustments.  First, Violet and I thought the bass could be a bit "bassier", so I shortened and thinned the bass bar a little.  Some of the light bass is probably due to the sassafras top, which has a unique sound a bit different than traditional spruce tops.  Next, in order to to add a bit of strength, I glued a spruce patch to an area close to the chinrest that got a bit too thin.  I'd been nervous about that spot for a while, and the paper-thin strip of spruce has added surprising strength.  I don't feel too bad about it - it is my first fiddle, after all, and I've learned that a great many fiddles have repair patches.  In any case, once I got it back together everyone has agreed the sound is improved.  We had a long day of jamming to prove it.

The disbelief that I actually made this little box that produces a fiddle sound is surreal.  I don't mean that to sound big-headed at all...I just mean that it's hard to believe I started with a stack of wood and ended up with a musical instrument.  It's more of a testament to Violet's teaching ability than my own woodworking talent.  I'm not sure how many fiddles will be in my future, but I'm glad to have this knowledge tucked away.  My philosophy is that any time you have the opportunity to add a new skill to your tool belt, jump on it.  You never know when it's going to come in handy.

End note:  With the update of my blogger layout, I also updated the text editor, which I'm still getting used to.  It also seems to be without spellcheck.  I will do my best to spell correctly, but if I goof a little, don't be too hard on me.

Don't be a Mavis

The other day a good friend of mine told me about a conversation he had with a new girl he was going out with. I'll keep my friend anonymous...but for fun let's call him Earl. They hadn't really discussed politics, but one afternoon the conversation naturally veered that direction. Earl is a solid conservative in his 30's, and his prospective girlfriend (we'll call her Mavis) also in her 30's, identified herself as a liberal Democrat. For Earl, this wasn't necessarily a deal-breaker, but he wanted to know more about Mavis' opinions and viewpoints (utterly shocking for a small-minded, stupid conservative). After a short time, Earl discovered that excepting a couple of minor issues, Mavis' beliefs were actually very conservative. He brought the fact up that they had many important viewpoints in common, and she replied, "I've been voting for only Democrats since I was 18 - I mean, no matter what you say I'm not going to change now."

He asked, "Even if that means you're voting for people and principles you don't really believe in?"

Her reply: "This conversation is boring me."

Earl was flabbergasted, and decided maybe Mavis wasn't the girl for him. It wasn't her particular politics - people date and marry all the time who have extremely opposing viewpoints - it was her ignorance and apathetic attitude toward the well-being of our country, toward issues that affect us all, and our descendants, as well as the complete unwillingness to examine her beliefs and possibly have to admit that she could be batting for the wrong team.

Voting is not something to be taken lightly, even if you're not overly interested in politics. Maybe I'm asking too much, but it seems to me that every American who exercises their right to vote has the obligation to educate themselves on issues and ask themselves what they truly believe - if they're going to VOTE on them.  How ignorant is it to stroll into a voting booth and vote down the list for one political party simply out of habit?

For anyone who's been reading my ramblings for any amount of time, you likely know where I stand politically. Many of you don't agree with my stances, and that's ok with me - I have no desire to live in a world where we all think alike, as long as I'm treated with respect.  Not to mention, I strongly believe in that little right called Freedom of Speech.

I'm speaking up about this issue out of experience.  Once in my lifetime, I was a lot like Mavis.  I hated anything to do with politics, mostly because I found I didn't know enough about the issues, or the candidates, or even enough about myself to make a fair judgement. When anyone wanted to talk politics, I'd roll my eyes and change the subject, or worse - pretended to know what was going on while hoping nobody could see through my ignorance. Or, reprehensibly - agree just to fit in with my friends, classmates, and co-workers. At least I can say I wasn't an irresponsible voter - I just avoided voting. I was halfway through college before I really started to figure out where I stood - before I stopped calling myself a liberal because everyone around me called themselves one, and really started to question some of the things my leftist professors and artsy classmates spouted as irrefutable fact, and begrudgingly started paying attention to the news. Slowly I started to develop my own set of ideals and principles and to see where they fit into the political spectrum. Then I was encouraged by one of my roommates to read the book, "Atlas Shrugged", by Ayn Rand, which really made me think.
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Unless you want to invite constant ridicule and risk getting on the bad side of a professor, you just don't strut around the art department of a large college wearing your conservative beliefs on your sleeve, I kept my ideas to myself while listening to liberal students loudly proclaiming their beliefs, often rudely insulting my religion and political thoughts as if everyone in the room shared the same ideals. Every so often I'd join in the fray, calmly asking questions and pointing out facts, and it never failed - I was told over and over that my thoughts "weren't valid" or were just plain "stupid." I'm often surprised at how the names fly so easily from people who claim to be all about inclusion, empathy, and understanding. Since that time, now that the country is more politically divided than ever and I've become much more outspoken and involved, I've been called everything in the book - from just plain idiotic, irrationally idealistic, naive, racist, to just downright hateful - all without knowing me or my character.

We never had a debate team in high school, so I'm not sure of the specific debate rules.  But I'm fairly positive that proper debate techniques do not include calling the other team offensive names.

The other day I took the Nolan Test, a political test which based on answers will place the test taker's results on a 4-part chart:

My results were far upper, barely right of center in the libertarian triangle-thing area. The results surprised me a bit, but not terribly. Lately I've been leaning a bit more toward the belief that the government just needs to butt out of our private lives, though I would've guessed not to be so far out of Camp Conservative. I'm not rushing out and changing my political affiliation based on a short internet test, but regardless of the outcome the test questions are worth mulling over.

http://www.nolanchart.com/survey.php

I encourage anyone even mildly interested to take this test, even if you're sure you know where you stand - it's a good way to get started. Read a bit about the test, how it's made, etc. And, if you disagree with the results, or the test itself - maybe you think it's biased, but do a little digging and find out why.

I would much rather have an informed political conversation with hard leftist statist progressive who knows what and why they believe they do rather than someone professing to be a Republican or Democrat, yet who has made no attempt at learning about politics and only votes eternally one way only because their parents and friends voted that way.  Don't throw yourself into a blanket political party simply because of your stance on one or two issues - that's what I like to call "baby-out-with-the-bathwater" approach to politics.  Like another friend of mine, Tony, said:  "It's funny how ONE freakin' social issue will make some people throw LIFE in the toilet over common sense."

Don't be a Mavis. Put out the effort - be true to yourself, be informed, and be honest.

Every Year...

You'd think that after 34 springs I'd no longer be surprised when that day comes along where it seems the sun decides to abruptly rise up sooner. But it never fails - every year I pop up out of bed exclaiming to myself "Wha?!? How late did I sleep?!?" only to turn to the clock and find I've actually woken up a good thirty minutes earlier than usual. Yesterday was my morning - I sprang out of bed like a jackrabbit (if jackrabbits slept in beds) expecting it to be halfway through the morning. It was 6:15.

When I was in school I usually had one day each spring I'd frantically run downstairs in a panicked wild-haired fizz wondering why Mom, aka The Wake-up Warden, let me sleep so late. Sometimes I could play it off that I was just really eager for breakfast, but most of the time I was busted and laughed at.

Am I the only one?

A Bike Made for Me

What a beautiful day! While I'm waiting for the temp to rise just a bit before I go barrelling outside to enjoy the day (even if it IS just cleaning out the garage), I'll share a recent discovery - the bike made just for me.

I used to mountain bike a lot, but unfortunately that hobby is one that's fallen by the wayside. It's a shame, because I REALLY loved mountain biking, especially singletrack (that's where the trail is only wide enough for one bike, and it winds all through trees and rocks with hairpin turns). I was also in the best shape of my life when I mountain biked often - it's not only great for cardio, but it keeps you lean and buff. And, it's an incredibly fun way to stay lean and buff. The skinned up knees and elbows are a small price to pay, and nothing makes you feel alive like careening down the side of a hill on two wheels.

And, since we're moving to Camp Robinson, which has over fifty miles of mountain bike trails, what better time to dive back into the sport, and get hubby into it, too. He needs a good hard-core cardio activity that's easy on his gimpy ankle.

My old faithful GT mountain bike, which I got at a wonderful bargain from a guy I used to work with, is in disrepair and way out of date. I'm sad every time I see it, and feel the need to apologize to the poor bike for the state it's in. I plan on getting it fixed up, but since we'll eventually need two bikes I thought I'd peruse the new ones, just to see what's out there and how the sport has changed since my mountain biking days. And, my dream bike showed up:

Yes friends, it's the Gary Fisher MULLET. No joke. And it's perfect! Heavy duty, and a hard-tail, which means it doesn't have rear shocks. I prefer hard-tails, because you can really whip the back end around on sharp turns. I didn't think they even made mountain bikes without rear shocks anymore.

But, it only goes on the wish-list. Right now it's a bit above my price range...but it's nice to dream, especially of a mullet.

This Year's Garden

Before I get started here, what do you all think of the new look? I'm forever a sucker for daisies.
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Despite not knowing exactly what kind of garden I'm going to get in this year, what with moving right during the most important gardening time and all, I went ahead and started some heirloom tomato and pepper seeds. If we're going to have anything, it's got to be tomatos and peppers, and later green beans.

Side note: I'm incredibly upset by the fact that of ALL the months our move could've fallen in, it's April. I can fudge the garden, but this is also TURKEY SEASON. TURKEY SEASON is a sacred three weeks not to be fooled with, and yet I'm somehow going to have to manage this obsession between toting boxes and painting over horrid nightmare-inducing floal wallboard. I just hope I get to take a few days to sit out in the woods.

*BIG SIGH*

Anyway...

I've never had much luck in the past with seed-starting, but thanks to a library book I think I've figured it out. Yes, that age-old lesson - if all else fails, read the directions. We'll see how it pans out. One huge mistake I made in the past was not "hardening off" the plants I'd started, which is getting the young plants gradually used to being outdoors. Instead I took the strong-looking new veggie plants and just plopped them straight into the garden and hoped for the best, which pretty much guarantees a mass plant genocide. As I mentioned some time before - I'm learning as I go.

I have TONS of seeds still waiting to be started, but I'm not sure yet whether to start them this year or wait until next year, when hopefully we'll be settled and I will have decided where to put the garden. Maybe in the coming years my dream of having a beautiful heirloom garden, as well as supplying all my friends and family with seeds and plants born without freaky labratory genetics.

We were informed by the current tennants that we'll be constantly battling the local overpopulated deer herd, who view gardens and flowers as their own personal all-you-can-eat buffet. You'd think if we were going to have issues with deer, it would've been at our current homestead - out in the middle of nowhere. But, I guess the dogs kept them at bay, and of course deer here are a bit more wary. The post deer are used to people not being a threat.

We'll see about that. The first time Bambi snacks on my berry bushes, it's war.

Adventures in Purfling

I know I've had a lot of fiddle-heavy posts lately, but you'll just have to bear with me.

If you remember a couple posts back talking about my fiddle I mentioned how it was completed, except for purfling. In review - purfling is the line that goes around the edge of a stringed instrument - made of three small strips of wood sandwiched together, which in turn make one strip that is colored black/white/black. In order to install this strip, it's required to dig a tiny "ditch" into the surface of the fiddle, between about 1/8" and 1/16th" inch deep, poke in the purfling with glue, trim the overhang so the purfling is flush with the fiddle surface, sand, and then apply final finishing.

Not all fiddles have purfling. Some, especially old hand-made ones, don't have any lines along the edges. Most fiddles at least have a drawn-on or painted line - Violet's earliest fiddles as well as the ones here Dad made have lines drawn with pencil. I think she told me she didn't do inlay purfling until fiddle #7 or #8.

I didn't add purfling to my fiddle earlier because I was in a hurry to get my fiddle playable for Folk Alliance. I wanted to add it for two reasons - #1) because it looked unfinished without a line, and #2) I wanted to be a fancypants.

The timing was perfect to start last week. After returning from Memphis, as I was showing it off to my friend Judith, she noticed an area where the top had come loose from the sides. Apparently when gluing on the top, I didn't get enough on that area. I had heard during the Folk Alliance during a lobby jam session the last night we were there a small *pop*, but during my quick inspection I didn't notice the break. (In a related note, apparently the break at some point after my initial inspection was big enough to let my rattlesnake rattle escape. As much as I hate to have lost it, since it belonged to the timber rattler I kept while working in state parks for programs (he/she lost it after shedding - I didn't chop it off), I'd give about anything to see the Mariott worker's face who found it.)

Since some of the glue between the top and sides was already loose, I decided to go ahead and take the top off to make installing the purfling easier. I had to tell myself that sometimes it takes a few steps back to go forward, along with a *BIG SIGH*...

Once I had the fiddle disassembled, it was time to practice on some wood scraps with Violet's purfling knife. I assumed the purfling knife would make this job cake. I was wrong. Now I know why most "how to install violin purfling" sites and videos on the internet show the installer using a dremel tool with an edging guide. The whole idea of installing purfling is scary. After a good two hours of practice with the special knife, I came to the conclusion that a regular finely-sharpened pocket knife was going to work just as well or better. It still took me an hour of false starts on the actual fiddle top - the evil-looking knife hovering millimeters above that perfectly finished surface - before I summoned the guts to plunge the knife into the wood. Did I mention it was scary?

Thirty minutes into the cutting, I was dismayed at the results. It appeared that a drunk termite had haphazardly eaten it's way around the edge of my formerly beautiful fiddle top. Choking back frustrated tears, I soldiered on, hoping for the best, uttering "Oops" and "Crap" and other colorful oaths as the knife slipped and skidded hither and yon. I decided the word "purfling" should be an explicative, and from then on I'd use it as such. A few more knife slips (one solidly into my finger), and a few more yells of "PURFLE!!!" made Violet crack up, while Joe smugly stated, "That's why I'm not doing purfling - I'm going to woodburn my line in." This earned him a major stink-eye, and gave me some resolve to prove him wrong.

I kept hacking away (sending Joe several eye-daggers for good measure), and when I got home hacked some more until I could fit a piece of purfling in one of the grooves, then went to bed. Then ten minutes later I got out of bed, because I just couldn't sleep knowing I might've royally screwed up my fiddle top. After much struggle getting the purfling in the ditch, I glued it in and tried to read a book while the glue set, then trimmed and sanded the purfling flush with the top.

Holy cow! I didn't screw up! What looked pretty ragged and crude when I left Violet's house actually turned out much nicer than I thought it ever could. The ragged edges were fixed when I sanded, and any big gaps were filled with the glue that had seeped up and mixed with the sawdust from the sanding, rendering them invisible. *BIG WHEW!* I could finally go to sleep knowing I didn't mess up, though if I do more purfling in the future, I do believe I'll go with the dremel tool.

Even after the ditches were dug, getting the purfling in the ditches was a challenge all it's own. Some pieces went in easy as pie - like that first piece. Some pieces did not. One piece shot across the room and I spent an hour looking for it until I found it under the refrigerator. The only way I found it was by noticing Puck staring under the fridge. My only guess is that it ricocheted off the couch? Who knows. Another piece fell from my grasp while I was working out on the porch (my skin sucking up some sunshine on a rare nice day), bounced off my glass of water, and fell down a crack. Once again I found myself thankful for no visible neighbors as I sucked in my breath in order to squirm under the porch, through the mud, and over sharp rocks to retrieve the piece, then squirm back out again - backwards - muddy with skinned elbows. I thought briefly of letting that piece go, but it was my last bit and I wasn't going to delay the fiddle another week due to minor technical difficulties.

Violet has already determined that I'm to start on fiddle #2 as soon as #1 is completely completed. I guess since I already have the wood, not to mention the free direction of a famous fiddle-maker who thinks I have talent, I should grab the opportunity and run with it. I think #2 will go much faster, now that I sort-of know what I'm doing, despite the probable fact that any "real" by-the-book violin-makers reading my updates are likely screaming "THAT'S NOT HOW YOU DO THAT!!!" Heh. I guess it's my (as hubby says) "stubborn streak as wide as the Mississippi" in action.

It's also learning from a living piece of our past (Violet, of course), who remembers vividly the days before cars were mainstream, before phones, before internet, before you could go to the mall and get a pair of shoes, and countless other things we take for granted. But especially, before you could flip on the radio and choose from any number of different genres of music. Before you could go to a music store and buy a handsome factory-made fiddle. She comes from a time when square-dances were the height in entertainment, and old-time music wasn't "old-time", but the current "Top 40." When your musical instrument was often hand-made, and maybe didn't sound technically "right", but sounds so good when playing that kind of music. - the way a hand-made instrument and old-time tunes should sound.

Well, stay tuned for a pic of the FINISHED no foolin' completely done fiddle. No joke.

Happy Birthday Lucy

Happy 7th Birthday to Lucy!
( Oh shut up, we don't have kids.)